Classified
by C-artist
Summary: AU High school fic. John Watson meets Sherlock Holmes, this time as his new dormmate. There also has been a gruesome murder... Will Sherlock be involved?
1. Introduction

Classified_ - Introduction_

* * *

It were unfortunate circumstances that currently held the school in a tight hold. There had been a death, a murder. A mystery as to who and how, the evidence missing. And yet there was a body, a gruesome, very bloody and very mutilated body.

And there was a little ad in the paper, stating the condolences from the school, it's students, teachers and family and friends. Several ads in fact.

And there was a black, black car that came to collect the body from the school. The parents were clothed in equal black, the woman's cheeks covered in long, black trails as she wept the mascara from her lashes. And the father's eyes didn't shine and there were deep, dark bags under his eyes.

And the school had held a gathering in honor of the boy, the students dressed in black and reminiscing about the times they spend with Jim. Not that there were a lot of such times. Jim was a rather lonely and strange boy.

And there had been a silent march. And boys had satisfied their pyromanic desire by holding the bright torches. It had been a long walk.

It were fortunate circumstances which allowed John Watson to finally attend the high status University, to attain a spot in the already exclusive student body. A spot that previously hadn't been available and now had the new student standing in front of the school campus.

It was no decision of fate that this boy, John Watson, had been arranged to settle in room 221b. The school didn't like to put their students alone in rooms, even when there were plenty of rooms left.

No, that's why they put John with the previous dorm partner of Jim.

221b. No one knew why this room had a little character aside from the numbers. Not a single other room had one, that much was a given fact.

* * *

John Watson could care less about there being a 'b' next to the number and proceeded to search for the room, entering the building through the main entrance and heading up the stairs with a box in his arms and a large bag hanging from his shoulder.

Just when John was about to rap on the door, hand already lifted to the wood and fingers curled up against his palm, did the door open and reveal the lean, dark figure of his dorm mate.

The boy was quite the appearance, messy raven curls were adorning his head, the palest of eyes and John wasn't sure whether to call them green or blue, a fair complexion with high cheekbones and strong jaw, and also very perfect lips. The rest of the male's body was long. Long and very thin. You could call the boy a walking skeleton. Somehow it fitted him perfectly though.

John wasn't tall. In fact, he was a long end below the average height. And this other guy had to be quite a bit above average. And it succumbed him to looking up as the other towered over him.

"You must be John Watson," There was the shortest of dramatic pauses, but it was too short for John to interrupt. "Yes, yes, it has to be. John Watson, Senior student, taking a major in medicines. Most likely having the ambition to become a doctor. Why? An irrational need to save others, a need to be important or to feel useful.

The boy's hand shot out to John's arm, revealing a bit more of skin. Very pale skin, that went usually hidden by his sleeves of the sweaters he always wore. "Recently been on extended vacation, most likely France or Spain, or… No, the southern states of North America. Los Angeles or California, most likely the first. Why?

Now the boy peered into the box John was carrying, pulling out a phone from the mess. "Possibly to drinking problems, but more likely it's because of an operation. Not yours. You were dragged along as your parents busied themselves with… 'Harry'." He seemed proud of all his statements. "So which is it? A strange disease, incurable maybe? Or something more unorthodox? It's the last, am I right?"

John peered at the names under the number at the door. This was supposed to be 'Sherlock Holmes'. Hadn't someone warned him for this guy?

"That was…" John started, pushing passed him and settling himself, the bags and the box on the neat and seemingly untouched bed.

Sherlock bore a smug smirk as he closed the door and waited for the words of praise that he expected.

"Disturbing…" John finished, looking seriously appalled now.


	2. Sleeping with the Dead

_Chapter 1- Sleeping with the dead_

* * *

"What?" Sherlock muttered confused, blinking furiously at the reaction that he clearly hadn't expected.

"You heard me. It's called stalking, Sherlock." John unzipped his bag and took out clothes that he placed in the wardrobe on his side of the room. " Reading up on me, probably from classified files. It's disturbing. What else have you learned?"

The smaller of the two made his way over to the other and pulled his mobile from the hands of the taller.

"John-"

"No, don't. I don't want to know. Just don't do it again, or I'll seriously consider asking the dorm leader to move me."

Sherlock stayed silent then, moving to sit on his own bed and staring with observant eyes at his new roommate. He wanted to explain, but John left him no room to do so. So the only sensible reaction was to wait until he could, or until it was forgotten altogether.

John didn't seem to notice the pending silence his new roommate had resorted to, just busying himself with pushing the clothes in the closet, the books and his laptop in the drawers of the desk, the toiletries in the bathroom and the various tiny items in the drawer of his nightstand.

And then, then there was another knock on the door and John moved to open it. Another ruined moment for Sherlock to explain his observations.

The door opened with the slightest of cracks and revealed the figure of Anderson, Andrew Anderson, as he had introduced himself upon the first meeting with John.

"Watson," He greeted, sending a glare over his head at the other occupant of the room. "I thought you might like an excuse to get away from that freak. I still owe you a tour, as the Student Council President."

John could hear Sherlock scoff at the words, but took the offer up anyway. He wasn't here to please the stuck up, file peeking, obnoxious and arrogant teen that was Sherlock Holmes.

And before Sherlock could attempt another try at telling John just how he knew so much about the 'what-should-have-been-stranger', John had escaped with Anderson through the door of their dorm.

* * *

There was the main school building with the grand auditorium and the four floors and the millions of classrooms. Well, technically it was less then hundred even, but for John it could have been a whole new world. And there was, at the front of the classical school, in a fairly modern building, a large cafeteria.

The second building, which was off to the right side of the campus held the more official rooms. Like the headmasters office and confederation rooms and also containing the dorms for the teachers. And of course, the hospital wing.

* * *

"Hello boys, how can I help you?" Was the greeting Anderson and John got, when they entered the quarters. "Oh, you are new, aren't you? I'm Sarah." She stood up to give him a hand and John took it eagerly, if not a little bit shy.

"Eh, yeah. John Watson." He introduced himself with a small smile, cheeks burning up. So there had been rumors about him? He was curious and slightly worried what they might be. Maybe Sherlock hadn't peeked into his files after all, maybe he had just managed to guess at the right rumors.

"What brings you here? Headache? Dizzy?" The fine woman had a smile her lips that pulled John from his thoughts and made him fidget with the hem of his sweater.

"A tour, Miss Sawyer." Anderson clarified, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for John to be finished with his meeting.

"Ah, Andrew, of course, I should have known." Sarah let go of Johns hand and took her seat behind her desk again. " It was nice to meet you, John."

John nodded, swallowing with quite a bit of trouble and smiling nervously as he made his way back to the door.

* * *

The remainder of the tour included the Administration and the Boys Dorm. Of course they also walked by the Girls Dorm, but even Anderson didn't enter. That might had to do with the girl waiting in front of it…

* * *

"John, I-"

"I don't want to hear it."

"But-"

"No"

"Your mob-"

"I'm sleeping, Sherlock." John turned around, facing away from the other teen now, effectively telling Sherlock that he was not up for talking right now… or the coming few hours.

"…John…" Sherlock tried, the pale eyes staring at the silhouette of the sleep faking John.

And this time John didn't bother to react, perhaps only inhaling a little bit sharper and exhaling a little bit louder. Otherwise he had his eyes tightly closed and his blanket tugged up to cover his ears.

"How does it feel to sleep in the bed of the deceased?" Sherlock deadpanned.

It got a surprising and rather satisfying reaction from the 'soon-to-be-doctor'. John's eyes had shot open and his overactive imagination had provided a sickly green and creepily grinning Jim right next to him, staring at him, and it caused John to twist around and get out of bed as quickly as possible. With the unfortunate result that his legs got tangled in the blankets, causing him to _fall_ out of bed, rather then jumping.

His head collided painfully with the carpeted floor and John resorted to not moving an inch after groaning from the sharp ache that wrecked through his skull.

It was either the ghost in the bed or the uncomfortable ground.

John opted for the ground.

"John?" Sherlock asked after a few minutes, propping himself up on one elbow, the other hand clutching at his bed linen.

"…" At first John didn't reply, then he slowly lowered the rest of his body in a more comfortable position, one hand rubbing his head. " Thanks to you I'll be having nightmares the rest of the time I'm here… About some gruesome, decaying, bloody corpse."

"Ghosts don't exist, John," Sherlock seemed to know exactly what the other had imagined in those fleeting moments after Sherlock's comment. "… Research tells that sleeping together helps to get rid of those so-called nightmares."

"Imagination does, and what are you implying?" John narrowed his eyes, finally letting his gaze meet the piercing grey ones on the bed.

Sherlock sent him a gaze back that clearly spelled the word _'idiot'_.

"Oh… Oh!" John suddenly sat up, wrestling with the blanket around his legs and definitely not looking at Sherlock. "No, I will definitely _not sleep_ with _you_!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, the corner of his lip twitching up though. "It's your 'ghost', me, or perhaps you prefer Miss Sawyer?" The limits of personal space lost on the genius boy.

John froze, eyes shooting up and cheeks flushing with a bright red. Luckily it was dark, even Sherlock couldn't see the blushing, right? "Wha- I- Eh…" He stammered unintelligently, dropping his gaze.

Sarah was the school nurse, and like on so many schools pretty much all the boys were developing crushes on the woman. And so John was no exception. Sarah was after all very nice, very caring and pretty too. Even with the short meeting John had with her, John knew he was already infatuated with the nurse.

And it was definitely not funny that Sherlock thought it was amusing.

"There is always a sofa in the corner." Sherlock waved lazily over to the couch, dropping his head on the pillow and staring at the ceiling.

It was obvious which was the best choice. And John found himself scurrying over to the piece of furniture, grabbing a pillow from the armchair next to it and making his make shift bed.

Just perfect.

* * *

A smirk played on Sherlock lips as he stared at the sleeping figure of John. The genius had been awake long before the hour John had set his alarm clock on, and he had resorted to sitting in the armchair, which now lacked the cushion John was currently using as pillow. Hands folded together against his lips, sparks in his eyes.

Sherlock was waiting. And when Sherlock was waiting it couldn't mean well. And no, indeed, there definitely played mischief in his eyes.

The first signs of John waking up had Sherlock lifted from his chair and pacing a few circles in front of the beds.

" 'Morning." John greeted, a voice still heavy with sleep.

Sherlock stopped the pacing and smirked. "Morning, John."

John glanced over at the energetic figure and a frown appeared on his features. "You want to say something… What is it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced shortly at the carpet in front of the couch and then back up to John. "Did I tell you, John, where the body actually was found?"


End file.
